Comment of the Week

I eat again at the so-called Soul Food place, and yet again I fail to consume a soul. Am I misinterpreting the signs, or is this place lying to me? The owner pries into my writing. I tell him only truth, and he seems troubled. Perhaps his soul is troubled. I could calm it. I could devour it. His partner is nowhere to be seen. The restaurant is empty. Today I will eat soul food.

Voshkod

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Gil Thorp, 4/4/05

OK, so Ludacris probably isn’t going to make an appearance, but at least we’ve got drug dealing! Yes, it seems that Hutch Renfro — who only days ago stolid Coach Thorp was praising for his spark or his zing or his moxie or his fullness of beans or some such — is full of a bit more than beans. Which one of Milford’s indistinguishable student-athletes will be the first to succumb to Hutch’s slick “stuff” push? Will it be, um, the guy who lost all the weight? Or, uh, one of the other guys? Or Steve Luhm, whose bulbous hair and Buddy Holly glasses are creeping in from the left edge of frame three? Once the first victim gets hepped up on coke or meth or what have you, there’ll at least be some vague excuse for the twitchy, spastic pacing of this strip.

By the way, the fact that “the no. 1 dealer at Milford” is setting a fifty-cent maximum bet at his poker game tells me that Milford is every bit as lame as I think it is.

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Family Circus, 4/3/05

Adorable mispronunciation? Classic Family Circus. Little kid lying face down, face twisted in pain, wondering what happened to the promised unconditional love and help from his big brother — love that they both knew, deep down in their hearts, he couldn’t provide? That, my friends, is a classic glimpse into dark, tormented soul of Jeffy Keane. I’m not sure what the context is for this little family drama, but wherever there’s Bette Midler blasting on the boom box, something non-alcoholic in the pitcher, and unsupervised little kids flinging themselves off of hills, you know there’s fun to be had.

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For Better Or For Worse, 4/2/05

Good to see that breaking off her friendship with Becky hasn’t put a stop to April’s plan to become a gig. Maybe they’ll engage in a competition of hands-on-ness: who gets the first rose tattoo on her ankle? The first boyfriend with a criminal record? The first venereal disease?